


Crawl right through me

by seratonation



Category: Bandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seratonation/pseuds/seratonation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew it was stupid and dangerous but today, Spencer didn’t care. The bed was one of those fancy four poster beds, with curtains all around the edges. He watched Ryan stand up on the mattress and unsteadily close them around the two of them as he carefully rolled up a joint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl right through me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themazeballet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themazeballet/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Before the Show](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2889) by sobota. 



> Thanks go out to my lovely beta, she knows who she is, and to sobota/themazeballet for the inspiration <3
> 
> Title comes from Plane by Jason Mraz.

It had been a long day. Interview after interview, all asking the same questions, all in the same French accent. Ryan called dibs on sharing a room with Spencer, and Spencer got some of Jon's stash and they ended up setting up on one of the beds.

He knew it was stupid and dangerous but today, Spencer didn’t care. The bed was one of those fancy four poster beds, with curtains all around the edges. He watched Ryan stand up on the mattress and unsteadily close them around the two of them as he carefully rolled up a joint.

It was dim, but he could still make out the lines of Ryan's face, a glint of something in Ryan's eyes. They looked at each other for a moment and then struck a match to light up. He shook the match out and took a long drag, feeling the smoke burn his throat. He held it for as long as he could before he let it out slowly, trying not to choke.

He passed it to Ryan, who went through the same process; drag, hold, release.

“If Zack finds out,” Ryan started, passing the joint back to Spencer.

Spencer shrugged as he took another drag. He couldn’t care less about what anyone else thought right now.

“Next album we should bring back the exclamation point,” he said, “just to see what they would do.”

He flicked the ash into the ashtray and passed it back to Ryan.

Ryan let out a huff of laughter, unamused. “It’ll make their heads explode,” he said, gesturing with his hands, leaving a thin trail of smoke, “boom.”

“You shouldn’t let them get to you,” Spencer said. He wasn’t sure who the advice was for though.

“I could say the same to you,” Ryan said, seeing right through Spencer. He took a drag and closed his eyes. Their makeshift tent was filling up with smoke but Spencer could still see Ryan's shadowy features.

“Did you ever think we could get this far?” Ryan asked, passing the joint back, “fancy hotels in France, whining about too much publicity?”

Spencer took a drag, held it until it felt like his heart would explode before letting it out. “I thought we’d be lucky if we had our own van and got to see the East coast.”

Ryan nodded, taking the joint from Spencer. “Pete did a good job.”

“ _We_ did a good job,” Spencer said, “you and me and Brendon and Jon.”

“I wonder what it would’ve been like,” he said, “you think we would have survived without Jon?”

“We would have figured something out,” Spencer assured, though he can’t be sure, not now, not anymore. He watched the tip light up in the darkness, casting s strange red glow across Ryan's face, making him seem unreal.

“What about Brendon?” Ryan asked, handing it back, “would we have gotten so far without him singing?”

“I don’t know, Ryan,” Spencer said, feeling suddenly exhausted. He took another drag, careful to catch the ashes building at the tip.

They sat in silence for a while, finishing off the last of the joint. “I think if Brendon wasn’t singing, we would only have gotten a van to ourselves, and as far as the East coast.”

“Can you imagine what it would have been like,” Ryan said, lying down on his back, “if you and I hadn’t been friends?”

“No,” Spencer said, lying down next to him, propped up on his elbow so he can see Ryan's profile, “can you?”

“No,” Ryan said, he seemed to be thinking hard about something, “you think it would still be the same if I wasn’t in the band?”

“No,” Spencer said, he didn’t even have to think about it, “it wouldn’t be Panic without you, it would be something else.”

“A different name doesn’t mean it’s a different band,” Ryan said, “a band by any other name -”

“No,” Spencer said, insistent, “we wouldn’t be us without you, the dynamic would be all wrong, it’d be different. It might not even exist.”

He watched Ryan's eyes drift closed then open again, a slow blink. Spencer wasn’t sure if he was thinking it over or gone on to something else by now.

“I can see it all, you know,” Ryan said, eventually, “all the different versions we could have been or could be.”

“Yeah?” Spencer asked, “Tell me.”

“There are so many,” he said, watching the canopy of the bed, “where do I even start? Can you imagine if we had gone to collage instead?”

“Graduated and became normal people,” Spencer said, “with normal lives.”

“Panic at the Disco was that band we had,” Ryan said, “great singer, but we didn’t get far.”

“Great lyrics,” Spencer said, feeling a grin pull at his lips, “but had that annoying exclamation point in the middle of the name.”

“Awesome percussions, though,” Ryan said, shifting to smile up at Spencer.

“Shame we never got signed,” Spencer said, smiling back, “we could have been huge.”

“Gone all over the world,” Ryan said, “told our kids how we met _the_ Pete Wentz.”

Spencer paused, trying to imagine sitting a kid on his lap and telling him stories of the past, of buses and concerts and playing in front of hundreds and thousands.

“That could still happen you know,” Spencer said.

“We actually did meet Pete,” Ryan said, “you remember him – little dude, lots of tattoos?”

“Oh ha ha,” Spencer said, “I mean the college bit, or the kids, we’re still young. It’s still possible.”

Ryan didn’t reply. Spencer watched his chest slowly go up and down; relaxed, steady breaths.

“Do you think you’ll ever do anything besides music?” Ryan asked, “Do you think you can?”

His tone was curious, searching more than anything. Spencer thought about it. He tried to imagine himself behind a desk, or behind a counter, but couldn’t, not really.

“No,” Spencer said, “I mean, I’ve thought about it before, about what would come after Panic, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I wasn’t drumming. You and Jon went to college already, for however long, and Brendon had a major picked out, I wouldn’t even know where to begin, where to look, or what to do.”

“You could be a chef,” Ryan said, calmly in contrast to Spencer's quickening pace, “you used to talk about that before, or do something in music management.”

“You’ve thought about this?” he asked, “about us not doing music?”

“A little,” Ryan admitted, “I just sometimes think there might be more out there, more to life.”

“More than this?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan said, “sometimes I think too much.”

“I think it’s perfect just the way it is,” Spencer said, “I wouldn’t want it any other way, so I don’t think about it.”

“Nothing is perfect forever,” Ryan said.

“It’s perfect for now,” Spencer replied, turning to lie on his back, his shoulder just brushing Ryan's.

“And when it stops being perfect?” Ryan said faintly.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”


End file.
